habits
by cumberlovin
Summary: Sherlock's on the drugs, but still deducing. An undercover mission takes a turn and Sherlock meets a young girl. A few years later the pair meet again, together they understand each other's minds and problems. But what happens when she disappears? Pre-John, rated T for now, bad summary
1. Crimson Days

habits. ~ Chapter 1

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a/n: hi everyone, i hope alls going well:)

this is my first and a half fanfic because my other failed (like really badly), because i only wrote one chapter and was going nowhere with it.

this one is quite psychological and is based on a few songs, which i suggest you listen to. i'll name the songs so you can listen them before/during/after the chapter.

i cant wait to get started, y'all ready?:)

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Sherlock sat on the chipped windowledge. Gently sipping from a luke-warm can of, possibly intoxicated, coca cola. The morning breeze rushed through his hair and the sun glimmered on the horizon. Looking past the tower blocks and skyscrapers, you might've thought that nothing would ever change in the city. A sense of infinity was clouding over his blurred head. The memories from the recent nights were pounding, despite the fuzz. Every so often an image would bounce into his mind of the reckless behaviour experienced. The young man, lost in thoughts, did not have a care in the world and felt certainly entitled to oblivion. Any other man mightve been proud of the recent events, but Sherlock was ashamed. He'd used so many people and hurt so many friends. Sitting in one of the most popular places in such a crowded town, he had never felt so alone. So desperate for human contact, he couldnt stop the need for the relief.

His mind started to race; the adrenaline had worn off and the real panic kicked in. He quickly stood up, which caused a wave, more like a tsunami, of nausea.

'Woah, that's a long drop' Sherlock gently eased his way back into the flat. Luckily, he must've kicked everyone out last night, or they had exited of their own accord. The stained couch was the centrepiece of the worn walls and was, fortunately, one of the least damaged item of furniture. On the coffee tables lay damaged beer cans and cigarettes. Sherlock had no intention of clearing up, he had to keep moving and searching for her. Last night was hectic, Sherlock needed to find her and by hosting the party he could get more information. He dragged a wooden stool into the centre of the room, he stood on it and gently moved one of the ceiling tiles aside. He pulled out a rucksack filled with papers, a laptop, money and a few spliffs. Ignoring the rolls he turned on the slim laptop, grateful that nothing had been damaged. He opened a few files and traced the GPS chip: '75-82 Westminister Street'. The disadvantage of the programme was that it only refreshed every 30 minutes, leaving enough time to cover a lot of distance. Sherlock realised that he was still wearing his two-day-old clothes and that they unquestionably reeked. After he refreshed himself, he hailed a cab.

1 year earlier

"Just head up to the warehouse 'round the back, Bill or Jimmy will be on the door, just tell 'em that Dog sent you in, yeah? Y'know a rich lad like you, ain't ever been 'eard 'f 'round 'ere. Nah, don't worry mate, I ain't gon' bother no good customer like you." Unfortunately the burly man stood no chance of becoming a television star, nor any kind of star for that matter since he had the complete inability to fully pronounce his words. His thick cockney accent didn't help the situation either. Sherlock had used to try to act like a East-London mechanic, but had given up the act, since no one bothered anyone as long as the substance was paid for. Sherlock swiftly acknowledged the doorman and entered the long-abandoned property. Stained matresses lined the floor and upon them lay a range of people. Middle-aged adults to mere teenagers. Sherlock made his way to his usual spot in the corner of the large hall, watching the humans smoke, inject and sniff their way to ecstasy. Sherlock sat down took out the leather strap, syringe, vial and phone. Roughly, he put on the leather strap, just above the elbow and tight enough. He quickly set up the syringe. He needed the rush, the tsunami of oblivion that he had to have. It was an addiction, unhealthy and illegal, but still an addiction. Sherlock had stobbed the shaking and anxiety he used to get and now had gotten used to the little jolt of the needle piercing his worn skin. He sighed contently as the drugs rushed through his viens. His mind couldnt cope without it. Sherlock's brain was always racing and he needed something to keep up with it. He'd experimented, but nothing soothed the pain like the high he got from drugs. The only disadvantage was coming off the high. Realising that it wouldnt last forever, that nothing lasted forever. That shock back to real life.

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a/n I'm really excited for this fanfiction, i hope it takes off. Favourites, follows and reviews would be fab! Don't worry, the fanfiction won't carry on like this, this is kind of a prologue/climax chapter to start off the story!

Love you beautifuls?


	2. Scarred Stangers

_Bang. Crash._ Sherlock sleepily opened his eyes, waiting for the loud wallop. He didn't hear anything else and lifted himself up on one elbow. He looked around but saw only the still bodies of the other strangers asleep. Must be my imagination, God knows what else I've hallucinated. Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed out at the pale wrist that had tapped him on the shoulder. The girl screeched and fell over, causing a mess of brown hair to cover her face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were sleeping," She moved over and sat cross-legged. "I came over, because I thought you might have a lighter on you. See, everyone else is bunched together and I didn't want to get hurt." Sherlock pulled down his hood and moved over, so he could get a better look at her.

"No, no, don't worry about it, it's just that the people who approach me are usually criminals of one sort or another." He carelessly chucked over a small lighter, pulled his hood up and turned over and went to sleep.

_Rude._

The girl, surprised at his actions, got up to leave.

"Wait," Sherlock's voice was muffled by the mattress, but no one could miss the rich depths of his voice. "Look, I know that you don't want to have to face your dad or boyfriend, so come back when your finished. No, actually smoke for a second here." The girl hesitated.

_How the heck could he know so much about her?_

She eased her way over to the almost lifeless body. She took a drag of the cigarette and exhaled next to the man.

"Better?" She whispered. He gently nodded, just as he was about to shoo her away, he saw the edge of a tatoo peeking out from her thin waterproof. She saw him staring and quickly pulled the cuff over her fingers. She stood up quickly and walked away, she looked back into his eyes. The stranger kept staring, as if stopping would be like letting go of reality.

"I'll see you soon Ellie.

I'm Sherlock Holmes,

Consulting Detective."

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aww meetings at last! sorry but i love cliffhangers:) but yeah SURPRISE UPDATE, i'll try and update regularly, at least once a week i hope. My exams are over so i have lots of time for writing noww:)

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	3. Spies

Just a massive thank you to Sadstuckforever413 for being a brilliant beta, and all of you for reading and reviewing:) there is a bit of a cliffhanger at the end, which is a bit cruel, so sorry for that, but lets get on with it! :)

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Spies

"Stop!" The girl sniffled and sunk down against the wall in defeat.

"Please, please, please." She murmured to herself against her blood-stained lips. The tall man approached her aggresively.

"You bitch. This was your last chance, you hear me?!" His white knuckles were wrapped tight around the leather whip.

"I fucking told you what to do and you try to disobey me? Your just like your mother: disrespectful and good for nothing." He crouched down to face the trembling girl. He spat in her pale face and drew back his fist. He snarled.

"Lights out."

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In movies and TV the main character wakes up, maybe with a split lip and a bruised knee. Eventually, though, they'd reach some sort of conclusion, sort their life out and find the "perfect" boy. But for Ellie, it was a never-ending pain, a fight she was destined to lose. Everyday was the same: wake up, make food, cover the injuries and go to school. There, Ellie wasn't bothered. Even though she worked hard, she'd never be able to get away from her monster of a father. He'd track her down, somehow, with his emotionless morons scattered everywhere and then, she'd replay the cycle all over again, like a song that would get stuck in your head for a week, except this week would turn into a year and a year would turn into five years.

Usually, she avoided all human beings as much as possible because, she knew, in the long run, she'd falsely trust them, they'd judge her, and then leave. Or worse. They'd tell someone. She didn't want to be the 'freak-from-a-messed-up-family', if she wasn't it already. When her dad didn't return home, she assumed he'd be at the warehouses, keeping an eye on the suppliers and dealers. She knew he was up to his neck in risky business, she hoped that he might get dragged out by some undercover agent someday, who'd sweep her away to a safe family. These dreams of escape were hopeless and just fizzled into nothing when she switched her mind back to reality. But these hallucinations and visions suddenly had a chance of becoming very, very real.

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"But Lestrade, why? Urgh."

"Sherlock, you can fit in with the crowd! Those bastards could sniff out a rat a mile away; you're the best chance we've got!"

"Yes, but what if I refuse? Wait, did Mycroft set you up to this? Are you one of his little goons?"

"Hold on Sherlock!"

"No.. Of course you're not."

"I'm not working for your brother and no, he did not make me do this. If you back out, people are going to die, yeah? Now. This may seem really silly to you, but this is the biggest lead we've had in months." Lestrade was now slamming his fist on the desk. Like a buffoon. Sherlock was standing on the chair opposite the office door.

"Just stop being a child! Get down from the chair, honestly Sherlock, can't you behave like an adult for more than five minutes?!" Sherlock continued to sulk in the leather chair, whilst Lestrade slid some case files over the desk.

"Look," He sighed. "There is a girl out there, her father is a drug lord and her mother is dead. If you won't do it for us, just do it for the girl." Sherlock exhaled and looked down at the brown wood in defeat, as he opened the worn files.

"Sherlock, just take the bloody vest." Lestrade's hand was hanging out in front of him limply, at the end of it was a black vest. Bullet-proof and stab-proof. Advanced, but to Sherlock a piece of utter crap. If Sherlock did have to chase any criminals, than the sagging weight of the bloody useless vest wouldn't help at all. So, he bluntly refused and walked away, leaving Lestrade standing alone in the dim office.

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"Sherlock, this is Lestrade, over-"

"Yes, yes, carry on. Just shut up with the codes and 'over'. Honestly. You're becoming a reincarnation of Anderson after every minute."

"Okay, as I was saying Sherlock, the dogs will distract the bastards for a bit. You'll have a few minutes to get into the property. Then, make your way round the building and climb up the fire es-"

"Yes, thank you for you input, that's enough."

"Just be bloody careful Sherlock."

"I know what I'm doing Lestrade. Sentimentality will be the death of you-"

"Look Sherlock. Don't go and get yourself shot, just get the information, alright?"

"Yes, yes fine."

Sherlock crouched by the rusty fence, looking onwards towards the men. The gravel amplified every step and made it seemingly impossible to get inside unnoticed.

_'Those arseholes aren't too stupid. Not as stupid as Anderson, at least.'_

"Show time."

The sudden barking of dogs was imminent and almost immediately the men were off hunting out the noise. Sherlock sprinted across the gravel and swung his legs over the fence.

'_Fuck_' Sherlock mentally cursed. The sudden flow of warmth trickled down his left palm. He silently pleaded for the blood to clot. He ran into the shadow of a tall wall, thick with plants, as the men came jogging back. Sherlock smirked as he saw one of them nursing a swollen hand. He waited for them second round of noise, but none came.

_Great._

Sherlock picked up a few heavy bits of gravel and chucked them at the metal doors of the opposite warehouse. He turned and sprinted, only waiting to hear the sound of the pebbles deflecting. He hopped up onto the fire escape and climbed up towards the roof. He didnt look back. His throat was parched and limbs numb, as his body powered up the ladder. The men had looked around seeking the source of the pebbles.

"Shit! Sherlock!" Lestrade panicked and commanded his team. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath.

Within 30 seconds, 5 dogs leaped into the pale courtyard. They bared vicious teeth and growled, as if they were stalking prey. The men backed up against the door. The tallest man withdrew a semi-automatic and warily aimed at the dogs, nervously switching between each predator. The German Shepherds, turned away and ran, just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet harmlessly hit the gravel.

The situation created enough time for Sherlock to climb onto the roof and jump down from a broken window pane. He shimmied across the wooden beam, thanking Lestrade for the emptiness. Across the warehouse he saw a once-used control room. The main door swung open, which left Sherlock in plain sight. If the two men looked up, Sherlock would be caught.

_Think._

He eased his body along the beam into a planking posistion and rotated himself around the beam. Just so slightly that he wouldn't fall off, but he wasn't in sight.

"Oi, Mickey! Be careful, alright?! Dammit, that's his fucking daughter!" Sherlock couldn't see the men, but could visualise the two men carrying a body.

Sherlock brought the cuff of his sleeve and whispered into it.

"Lestrade, I think they've got the girl."

"Shit, Sherlock you need to get out of there." Came the instant reply from his earpiece.

"No Lestrade, I'll finish this."

"Sherlo-" He ripped the earpiece out, tearing the wire with his teeth. Sherlock pulled himself back up onto the beam and stood up, clinging onto the column. The men swung a heavy door behind them, letting Sherlock travel as quicky as possible. He'd made it three quarters of the way across, as the two men exited, carrying a box each filled with plastic bags of drugs. They had left the body inside, probably waiting to be transported else where. Sherlock ignored the raging crave and carried on, as soon as he heard an engine thrumming.

The only way down to the control room was a leap across the beams onto a set of abandoned scafolding. Sherlock had no run up and only the momentum of his arms to power his body across.

He bent his knees and swung his arms and reached out to grip the wood. His left hand grabbed onto it and pain shot through his hand. His fingers started slipping and soon he was falling.

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What happens to Sherlock? Does he get out? What happens to the "daughter"? sorry for being so cruelXD i would be very glad if you all reviewed, followed and favourited, thanks:)


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